Let's Talk About Sext

by Evie Claire

  “I’m so sorry, Love.” For the first time since he met her, she visibly bristled at the term. “I didn’t know….” But he was talking to her back. Phebe was pissed. And she was gone.

  Chapter 20

  Phebe

  He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. This is not his world.

  Phebe tried to calm herself as she stormed to the bathroom, her clutch gripped so tightly, her fingers were numb. Because at the same time, how could he not know? Joel Stewart’s face was on fifty fucking billboards in the city alone. He had a distinctive most-interesting-man-in-the-world look. Salt-and-pepper hair. Skin tanned in the Maldives. Custom Italian suits. By looks alone, he was obviously a somebody. It was impossible to miss.

  But Brody had. Not only that, he’d sexualized her in front of a boss she had yet to impress. It had been all she could muster to blink away the burn behind her eyeballs as the words popped out of his mouth like shotgun blasts aimed directly at Phebe’s professional reputation. Femininity made her feel weak. Which was why she had spent her career being tougher than the guys in every possible way.

  Her entire fucking career. And in five seconds, Brody had irreparably damaged years of hard work. It would’ve been only slightly less embarrassing if he’d lifted her skirt and shouted, “Hey! Look! She’s got a vagina!” to the entire crowd. And what did it say about her that she would date a guy who could be so patronizingly inappropriate?

  But miracle of all miracles, when Phebe burst into the bathroom ready to rage at the walls, she found the smiling faces of Jenn and Marie. The surprise slowed her angry roll a tiny bit. At least enough that she saw something other than red.

  “Phebe!” Marie gushed. “Brody is fucking amazing. I fucking love him.” Okay, so Marie was already drunk. Good to know. She grabbed a cocktail napkin–wrapped highball off the counter and sauntered over to where Phebe had stopped cold. A few other women lingered at the mirror. Once they saw the look on Phebe’s face, they all moved to the far end of the restroom, instinctively knowing when a girl needed her friends.

  “I don’t want to talk about Brody right now.” Phebe waved her friends away and took a seat in a lounge armchair. She kicked off a heel and rubbed her arch.

  “What happened?” Jenn, who was decidedly sober due to the night’s responsibilities, instantly recognized there was trouble in paradise.

  “He just completely humiliated me in front of Joel Stewart.” Phebe hung her head in her hands, rubbing her temples like it might erase the visual.

  “Oh, honey.” Marie sat down on the chair’s arm and offered her drink for reinforcement. Phebe took it and downed the vodka water with only a mild gag. “What’d he do?”

  “You know, grabbed my ass. Talked about my panties. Just the usual everyday kind of bullshit guys say about girls.” Phebe shrugged it off like it was almost expected because it hurt too much to admit the truth. Over the past few weeks, her edges had softened. She’d thought that was a good thing. Until she suddenly found herself in dire need of an icy heart. Because it wasn’t only the professional humiliation. It was how deeply it hurt to be betrayed by the one she’d let thaw her. That sucked way worse.

  “Shit.” It was Marie’s one-word response.

  “Shit,” Phebe repeated, and took another swig of vodka. “We are too different. It’s easy to forget that when I’m not working. But I was an idiot to think this could ever work long-term.”

  “I disagree.” Marie raised her hand like a kid in school casting her vote. “You should’ve seen the way he handled Rob’s bullshit earlier. Rob was such an ass, and Brody was a total gentleman about it all.” Marie’s eyes went wide with appreciation. “He’s a keeper, Phebe. And he would never embarrass you on purpose.”

  “She’s drunk, but she’s right.” Jenn pulled herself away from the mirror and sat opposite Phebe, picking up a gala program someone had discarded and thumbing through it. God, it felt like they were back in college again. Patching up one another’s boy troubles and pondering the twenty-seven million reasons why guys insisted on being douche canoes—because that was the word all those years ago. “What exactly happened?”

  Phebe forced herself to think about it. And when she did, she realized that—absent Mr. Stewart’s presence—Brody’s comment would’ve been totally in line with the rest of their evening. A resigned frown tugged at her lips. She had been the one to start the panty talk. Brody had just found the most extraordinary exclamation point to end it with. Not to mention that the thought of never seeing Brody again made her heart twist in her chest like a rusty spike. That was new. She sighed and fell heavily against the pillow at her back.

  “I wouldn’t have cared if Mr. Stewart hadn’t been there. It would’ve been sexy and flirty.” A ghost of a smile tugged at the side of her mouth. Brody had a way of doing that to her. “But how can he not know me well enough to understand how much I would hate him saying something like that in front of anyone? I’m fine being sexy with him. I love it, actually. But that’s not something I want shared outside of us. Is that unreasonable?”

  Marie and Jenn exchanged uncertain looks—Phebe never asked for permission to be a bitch. She usually just went with her gut on matters such as this.

  “Have you told him that?” Jenn asked, still flipping pages in the brochure.

  “No. It’s only been a few weeks. We haven’t exactly had time.”

  “You can’t expect him to read your mind, Phebe.”

  “But that’s the thing.” Phebe leaned forward, using her hands to talk, because it was getting increasingly harder to bottle things up the way she always had. “Brody has always read me like a damn book from the moment we met. It’s one of the things I’ve loved most about him. I suck when it comes to touchy-feely stuff. But Brody seems to know my emotions before I do.”

  They were the truest words she’d spoken about Brody to date. Words that made her search for a way to forgive his behavior in front of Mr. Stewart.

  Again, her friends exchanged looks. Phebe wasn’t an idiot. She’d used the word love more in the last two minutes than she had in their entire friendship. And she knew exactly why. Absent the last ten minutes of life—Brody Cantrell felt a hell of a lot like The One.

  “Sweetie, this is a hiccup, not a roadblock. How big of a bitch were you just now?”

  Phebe took a deep breath, her eyes straying to the ceiling as she thought.

  “I’d say a five.”

  “I’d say you’d better get your ass out there and find him, because your five is most people’s eight.” Jenn gave Phebe a stern Mommy’s-in-charge look and pointed to the door.

  “Ugh, I suck at apologies.” Phebe slumped in the chair, hating the idea of talking about emotions at all. Couldn’t they just fuck and make up?

  “Then be creative.” Marie winked at her, as if the vodka had given her the ability to read minds. Phebe giggled, but damn if she wasn’t suddenly hit with a stroke of genius. She stood, straightened her dress, and walked to an empty bathroom stall.

  “Wait a minute.” Jenn who had fallen silent, followed her. “What’s Brody’s last name?” she asked through the closed door. Phebe balanced precariously in her high heels, sliding lace down one leg, then the other.

  “Cantrell, why?” She finished, straightened her dress again, and pushed out of the stall. Panties bunched in her hand.

  “He’s listed as an in-kind sponsor here.” Jenn’s brow wrinkled and she turned the program for Phebe to see.

  “Yeah, he donates supplies to the club in East Atlanta.”

  “This has him listed as a platinum-level sponsor.” Jenn turned the page for Phebe to see.

  “Well, that’s wrong. Unless slushie futures have gone through the roof.” Phebe laughed it off.

  “Ugh!” Jenn groaned and let her head fall back in defeat. “I swear, this is the most incompetent volunteer committee I have ever worked
with.” She shook her head and tossed the program in the trash. “If it weren’t for your help, this night never would have come together. I’m putting you in charge of programs next year.”

  “Next year?” Phebe asked, thinking. And then, to everyone’s surprise, she added, “Okay.” And turned for the door.

  “On the bright side, everybody thinks your boyfriend is a baller!” Marie yelled at her back. Yes, even though the sponsorship was wrong, Marie’s words were true. Back in the ballroom, Phebe grabbed a program from a deserted table she passed. Dinner was over. The older guests were heading home, the younger ones probably checking to see if the babysitter could stay later.

  Sure enough, there it was, in big, bold letters. At the top of the first page, under platinum sponsors, was Brody Cantrell, the very first of only five names, no less. Phebe smiled and tucked it into her purse. Maybe one day, she thought to herself.

  Rounding a corner into the main room, she found the bar. And Brody chatting up the bartender. The sight made her heart sink. She’d abandoned him, and the only refuge he could find was with his own kind. God, she was such a bitch. His gaze met hers, and he immediately sprang into action, his feet moving so fast the rest of him had to catch up.

  “Hendrick’s on the rocks with a lime twist,” Brody said over his shoulder to the bartender. His entire focus was on Phebe, searching her face, desperate to read her thoughts.

  “Make it a double,” she added, without looking away.

  “Phebe, I had no idea…” Brody started what would inevitably turn into an apology. One Phebe wasn’t entirely sure she wanted just yet. There were things to discuss. Things they needed to get straight. And a gala wasn’t the place for any of it. Phebe silenced his lips with a single finger and shook her head. God, his lips. Feeling them under her fingertip made her want to feel them everywhere. Sex seemed to be the one thing they were incapable of fucking up.

  “We’re putting a pin in this,” Phebe explained before she dropped her hand. “Later,” she promised with a resolute nod. One Brody returned.

  “So, we’re okay for now?” The look in his eyes was so damn lost-puppy-in-a-cruel-cruel-world sad that it broke her icy heart right down to its gooey core. He took her drink from the bartender. She took his wrist and pulled him to the side for what little privacy they could manage.

  “Of course we are, Brody. I know you weren’t aware of who he was. I know you didn’t mean to do what you did. But it’s not okay. You can’t treat me like that. When we get home, there’s some things we need to discuss. For now, let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  “I respect the hell out of you. You have to know that.” Brody’s words were a plea.

  “I do. Maybe this was a mistake…you coming here.” Phebe looked off to the side into the sea of people that populated her world. Most of whom didn’t have an ounce of the integrity Brody possessed in his pinkie. She’d never known how much she admired it in a man.

  “This is not me, Phebe.” Brody held his arms out to his sides. One held a beer bottle wrapped in a cocktail napkin. The other would’ve held an iPhone he couldn’t live without if he wanted to fit in. It didn’t. “But I’ll be whatever I have to be in order to be with you.”

  Phebe fell into him, leaning into his strength, her cheek resting on his lapels. She breathed in the woodsy, euphoric scent that was Brody. It was everything. He was everything that mattered. So why did her heart hurt to hear him admit how ill at ease he was? Why did she suddenly want to leave? To curl under the covers with him and shut the rest of the world out?

  It’s what they’d done for the past three weeks. Just them. No one else. It hadn’t mattered that their worlds might clash. It hadn’t mattered that she was almost in her C-Suite and he was still happy just to make ends meet. Her educational pedigree and his lack of one hadn’t meant shit. Because they were just two people coming together and finding what they needed in each other. The building reno would change things for him. Maybe even free him up to finish his degree if he wanted. Yes, this was a hiccup, not a roadblock.

  “Let’s go home,” Phebe whispered against his chest. The whole night had soured. Forced to be people instead of just lovers had put a strain on them she wasn’t ready to admit. She just wanted them back where they were when the night had started with such promise.

  “Are you sure?” Brody whispered against the top of her head, sealing it with a kiss for good measure.

  “I’ve had enough fun for one night.”

  * * *

  —

  The car rolled to a stop at the corner of Ponce and Peachtree.

  “We’ll get out here.” Brody leaned up to the driver and pulled out a twenty. Phebe had been tucked under his arm, daydreaming as they rode silently through the night. Now she sat up straight.

  “Aren’t we going to my place?” She had assumed that was their destination.

  “You never got dessert,” Brody said, sliding out of the car and holding out a hand.

  “Okay,” she said slowly, but took his hand and slid from the backseat into the warm night air. Mentally, she was planning the conversation they needed to have, rehashing all the ways the night had gone wrong and what her expectations were for such an event. She and Brody could make this work if they allowed each other some room to learn. Having her thought process interrupted was a minor annoyance.

  The moment she stepped from the car, all frustration disappeared. She took a deep breath and felt her shoulders relax. Summer nights were the best down south. Balmy and breezy with the tiniest hint of rose perfuming the air. Even in downtown, you could pick up the fragrance of flowers blooming in the beds of nearby Piedmont Park. She inhaled deeply, turned to Brody, and squeezed his hand, happy to share the moment with him.

  There’s a certain feeling—a unique sense of being vibrantly alive—that comes from walking darkened streets in formal attire. Everyone else stops and stares—wondering where you’ve been, what kind of charmed life you’re lucky enough to live. Wrapping herself around the solidity of Brody’s arm as her heels struck the pavement gave the moment a surreal vibe. One that felt so heavily grounded in them, she swore to herself she would remember every detail forever. Encapsulate it. Bubble Wrap it. Pull it out on those shitty days when she needed a little pick-me-up.

  Life with Brody was different. There wasn’t a single guy back at the gala that would do this. No, they’d all be too worried that a homeless guy would steal their Gucci loafers or the Rolex off their arm. Brody would probably hand his over. If he had one. Because he didn’t see the value of material things. In her estimation, he was more of a man for it.

  “Frosted or plain?” Brody asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

  “Huh?” Phebe had been watching the pavement, trusting Brody to guide her down the sidewalk. She looked up and saw the warm glowing lights of a Krispy Kreme. A giggle bubbled out of her. “Brody Cantrell, I hope God broke the mold when he made you.”

  He gave her a sideways smile and wrinkled his brow, clearly uncomfortable with such praise. Humble to a near fault. The man was solid gold. And looking at him she had another revelation—she was still there. Arm in arm with him, despite the night they’d had. Her heart gave a hard kick like it was trying to make her brain see what it had since day one.

  If any other man had embarrassed her the way Brody had tonight, she would’ve left him at the gala. Erased his number. Never thought about him again. But here she was, trying to solve a problem instead of running from it. This was a new level for her.

  “Plain?” Brody asked again, stroking a hand down her back to get her attention. She startled to attention at his touch and turned to the displays in the window, not ready to spill the confessions of her heart just yet.

  “I want a cinnamon-and-sugar cake donut. No, make that two. And a decaf coffee.”

  “You need some caffeine, Love. I’ve got big plans for you.” Brody held t
he door open and chanced a pat on her bottom as she passed. That, she was fine with. In fact, she was fine with all his flirtations, loved them, actually, just in their proper place. Phebe was feeling increasingly stupid about her earlier overreaction. It wasn’t him. It was her.

  She was just across the threshold when she stopped so short Brody crashed into the back of her. He put a hand on either side of her hips to steady them both. It was a good thing since her hands were busy. She stuck one in her purse, fisted a very small item, and then tucked said item into Brody’s lapel pocket.

  His gaze followed her hand, and he didn’t need to check the pocket to know. Discretion was key since they were out in public. Phebe’s eyes flickered over the smile playing hide-and-seek in Brody’s beard. It was all about discretion, really. She loved how wanted Brody made her feel. How desired. As much as she hated to admit it, men didn’t want to be her lover. They were usually afraid of her. Brody didn’t give a shit about who she was in a boardroom. He just wanted her. No apologies. How could she be mad at him for voicing the thing she loved most about him?

  Loved. Fuck. The word crept into her thoughts before she could stop it.

  “Mmmmm…red.” Brody made a hungry sound in his throat and approached the counter.

  “Is this for here or to go?” the clerk asked.

  “Definitely to go,” he said, peeking again at the lacey prize in his pocket. He patted it for safekeeping. Phebe’s stomach fell to the floor. A donut was the last thing she wanted in her mouth. The promise of hot make-up sex had a way of doing that to a girl.